


The Sum of Grief and Insanity

by OpalFruits



Series: Life Lessons [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Dark, Gen, Not A Happy Ending, Remember that awful thought Sans had?, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalFruits/pseuds/OpalFruits
Summary: Sans has gone off the deep end. After years spent agonising over his loss, terrified you'll never exist in this new timeline, he finally cracks.He'll make sure you come back.Alternate ending to 'The Mathematics of Love and Loss'.





	The Sum of Grief and Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> This will make no sense at all if you haven't read 'The Mathematics of Love and Loss'. You should probably go do that, if you haven't already.

The air smelled charred. Like burnt trees, and scorched earth, and the slightest hint of seared flesh.

In the last hour, the woods surrounding the area that had been – or rather had not been, but someday _would_ be – New New Home, had been reduced to a smouldering, burning waste. The trees closest to the epicentre of the destruction had been blasted into non-existence, the ground where they once grew now blackened and covered in ash. A casual observer could be forgiven for thinking a bomb had gone off, or else that some irate God had rained judgement down upon the region.

It wasn't too far from the truth, actually.

Frisk was worn down to the point of collapse. They panted, heaving on great, smokey lungfuls of air, fighting for every breath on their knees in the midst of the devastation. They'd put up a good fight this time, Sans would admit – they were learning, memorising his patterns slowly but surely. Soon, he would have to stop fighting fair in order to beat them. For now, however, victory was his, and they were finally, _finally_ too tired to stand any more. Their left arm hung uselessly by their side, damaged beyond repair, while their right grasped at a burn just under their ribs.

It was over. Or as good as. And Frisk – eyes narrowed with pain and fear – _knew_ it.

Sans surveyed his handiwork with a distinct lack of regret. This was, what? The thirtieth time? Fortieth? The number was high enough, anyway, that the stress of the whole sorry situation had eroded what was left of his sanity. The proof was in how easy he now found his task; how _enjoyable_ even. It had been hard at first – as well it should be – but it was almost therapeutic at this stage.

That, Sans admitted to himself, was probably not a good sign.

He approached Frisk slowly, as languid as though he had all the time in the world. Which he did, in a sense, because although they'd repeated this battle enough times that Sans scarcely remembered what day it was any more, he at least remembered taking the necessary precautions beforehand. No one was going to come looking for either one of them anytime soon, not until it was far too late.

Crouching, Sans looked into the face of his friend without pity. Frisk glared back, terrified but still defiant.

“y' gonna stay down this time kid?” He says it almost jokingly, like they're a naughty kid refusing to go to bed. “probably be easier if ya did. jus' sayin'.”

They shook their head vehemently, their jaw trembling minutely. Still they were determined – always so _determined._

Just like you had been.

Sans sighed. “figured.”

_*She wouldn't want you to do this. It's not too late to stop-_

He blew them away with a point-blank Gaster Blaster, scattering their physical body to the four winds and shattering their soul like it was made of glass. It was a quick death, and painless, the only mercy Sans had left in him to give. He'd have to change his tactics eventually, he knew that – quick and painless didn't give them incentive enough to stay dead. For now though, it would serve.

“how would _you_ know what she'd want?” Sans grumbled at the spot where Frisk had last been.

When you were eventually reborn again, even _you_ wouldn't know what you'd have wanted.

* * *

 

Frisk's eyes flew open, their mouth gaping wide in the memory of a scream that had never made it past their lips. Jerkily, mind still caught up in the confusion of the moments preceding their death – their _forty-second_ death _–_ they flinched back a step, sucking in a deep, panicked breath as they struggled to adjust to the abrupt change in scenery.

Or rather, to the sudden absence of any scenery at all.

Around them, the darkness of the void stretched on forever, it's uniform emptiness comforting after the assault of so much light and noise and pain. Time didn't technically exist here, but in the perpetual lull before their 'options' appeared – two flares of colour in a world otherwise devoid of any, a physical representation of the power of their Determination – Frisk seriously considered not going back. Wouldn't it be easier to just give Sans what he wanted? They'd tried to reason with him, they really had, but he refused to listen. Hadn't they done enough by now?

Hadn't they _suffered_ enough?

“ _Whatever point you were trying to prove, it doesn't work out so well for the rest of us.”_

Those words – some of your last before you'd faded from existence before their very eyes – echoed in Frisk's ears, clear as a bell.

Frisk straightened their spine, levelling their shoulders and setting their jaw. Your sacrifice filled them with _Determination_.

Sans had said it often enough – had thrown it in their face whenever they dared bring you up – but Frisk really didn't _know_ you. They wouldn't pretend they did, either. Truth be told, after all these years they couldn't even remember what you'd looked like – you'd faded so fast... _Too_ fast for them to have gleaned anything more than the vaguest impression.

But they did know one thing.

You hadn't erased your own existence – and that of countless others – just for everything to go back to the way it was. You _wouldn't_ want this, they were certain of it.

And somewhere in his broken mind, Sans knew that too.

Reluctant as they were, Frisk knew they had to go back. Not _wanted_ to, _had_ to. It wasn't even really a choice. Someone had to make sure your efforts meant something.

But...

They were afraid.

They could admit it here, if nowhere else. Frisk was _scared_ of returning to their last SAVE. They were scared of dying again; scared of the pain that would come before it, and the selfish indecision that would doubtless return after. Perhaps most of all, they were terrified of watching Sans sink deeper and deeper into the depths of his own madness, each Reset taking him further and further beyond their reach.

Which would break first, they wondered? Their determination or his?

After forty-two consecutive deaths, the answer wasn't as clear cut as it should be.

Moving to hold their hand decisively over the 'CONTINUE', Frisk desperately soaked up their last moments of peace in grim silence. Soon, they would wake up in the forest at the base of Mt. Ebott, where Sans had lured them forty-two Resets ago on the pretext of visiting the Underground. There they would be thrust back into a battle that already felt like it had been raging for an eternity – and there they would, in all likelihood, die for the forty-third time.

Maybe, they mused, as the black around them started to shift and stretch into distinct textures and outlines, they'd try running this time. If they could make it to a public place, Sans would (theoretically) be forced to halt his attack – after all, their death meant nothing if it couldn't be blamed on the humans. A rogue monster killing their own Ambassador wouldn't catalyse the war Sans wanted. He wouldn't risk such a deviation from his desired timeline.

If they couldn't convince him to stop on his own, and they _definitely_ couldn't bear to fight him, then running might actually be the wisest course of action...

Right.

Like they could ever hope to outrun a teleporting skeleton.

 


End file.
